Darkest of Times
by Wren Gebel
Summary: While staying at Grimmauld Place after the Dementor attack right before Harry's fifth year, Harry and Sirius find a way to keep their minds off of the darkness they know is coming. Harry and Sirius friendship !NOT SLASH!. Written for QLFC Round 2. Please R&R! ONE-SHOT


**A/N: Written for the QLFC Round 2! My prompt as Keeper was to write about a totally platonic friendship cross-gen. I choose Harry and Sirius! Enjoy!**

**(Also, title inspired by agentmoppet, LittleMissXanda, and ClaireBear1982)**

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Darkest of Times

Sirius listened to a chorus of crickets hidden in the long stretch of grass around him. He stared up at a high sky full of inky blues and blacks, swirled with flecks of twinkling light. The moon hung above him like a thick, white crescent. Sucking deeply on the late summer air, he was reminded, yet again, to never take the beauty of the sky for granted.

Next to Sirius was a boy, barely fifteen. His round spectacles looked like two moons from the white light shining off them, and his hair was black enough to be the dark sky behind them.

They spoke not a word to each other, but instead enjoyed the sliver of peace they could get.

Grimauld Place stood tall and dark behind them. It's windows dusty and cracked. Light flickered dully in the uppermost windows behind the drawn gauzy curtains.

There was the faint hum of Muggle traffic past the protective bubble around the foreboding home. The protection charm dulled the city lights and sounds, allowing the stars to paint beautiful pictures in the sky.

After a moment, Sirius stood. His joints cracked as he reached in the air and stood on his toes to work the kinks out of his bones.

Harry scrambled to his feet next to his godfather, mimicking his movements.

"What do you say, Harry?" Sirius asked, his voice cutting through the peaceful silence like a knife. "Fancy a ride on the old brooms?"

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Nah," Sirius waved off with a wink.

He took out his wand and flicked it lightly toward the back door of the Grimauld Place, opening the door and allowing two brooms to float out.

Harry's bones vibrated with excitement. He gripped the wooden handle of a broom as it floated up next to him.

Sirius was already on his broom. His toes barely stroked the grass underneath him. He sighed contently.

Harry swung his leg over the handle and pushed off lightly from the ground. The broom jerked and Harry struggled to maintain control over the old Cleansweep. When he finally leveled out he looked at Sirius who was having no trouble with his broom.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" said Sirius.

The skin on Harry's lips cracked when he smiled and nodded.

Sirius pulled up on his broom and rose higher into the inky blue with Harry right behind him. His fingers shook slightly around the handle and his knuckles looked like white cherry tomatoes. It had been quite awhile since he'd last been on a broom.

The sky looked even more incredible. Harry felt like he could reach up and gather the stars in his hands like glitter and swirl the colours of the sky together. The wind grasped his face. He closed his eyes, imagining the air's fingers moving over his cheeks and in his hair.

Sirius lolled his head back and laughed at the wind and the sky.

"Hey Sirius!" Harry called. "Race you to that tree!" he pointed to a browning tree in the distance.

Sirius's eyes flashed. "You're on!"

"Ready?" Harry yelled.

They both straightened their brooms and pointed the handles toward the tree.

"Set!" Sirius responded, pressing his belly to the handle of his broom.

"Go!" they both yelled and took off at the same time.

The wind howled in Harry's ears. It iced his eyes and made them water. He laid nearly flat on his broom. The Cleansweeps were no Nimbuses or Firebolts, but they were great matches for each other. Sirius was right behind him. Harry could feel him creeping along the side of his broom with the spasms in his muscles.

"Gotcha', Potter!" Sirius laughed as he passed Harry with only twenty feet left between him and the tree.

"Not so fast!" Harry yelled, pushing himself even farther down on his broom.

They were neck and neck. The air froze their faces in permanent smiles while their brows dipped. Harry's broom inched forward slightly, but Sirius's caught up just the same.

Harry's fingers itched and his teeth ached. His bones knocked and vibrated as his feet hit the ground in a not-so-graceful landing. He unmounted, his feet stinging, and grinned at Sirius whose hair was a wild mane of curls behind his head.

"It was a close one, Harry, but I obviously won!" shouted Sirius, grasping the handle of his broom and shaking it slightly in the air like a flag.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're joking! I was clearly ahead!"

Sirius leaned against the tree's bark. His thin arms were shaking with adrenalin. "We'll call it a draw then," he said.

"Fine. A draw," Harry agreed and ran his hand over the bark next to Sirius.

It was quiet as they caught their breaths. Harry looked back toward Grimmauld Place. It was invisible from where he was, but he could see a shimmer in the city lights were the straight-backed house stood. With a lump in his throat he thought about why we was there and the joy he had felt was suddenly gone.

"I'm scared, Sirius," Harry's voice was like sandpaper.

"Good," he said. "Not being scared is being ignorant."

Harry nodded in understanding, though he thought he was tired of being afraid. He wanted to be comfortable for once. He almost wished he was still that scrawny boy beneath the stairs who knew nothing about Voldemort.

Harry heard Sirius sigh. "We're all scared. You. Me. The rest of the Order. Even Voldemort. You're not alone."

Sirius rested his knobbly hand on Harry's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Harry was thankful for Sirius. The man was like the uncle he never had. He ached for more time with him. Soon he'd be back off to Hogwarts and there weren't enough hours in the days that he was with Sirius. He wanted to drag out every moment. He clung to every second under the tree. Savouring the silence. Rationing the feeling. But no matter how much he willed it to stop, time ticked on and he had no choice but to be dragged by it, scrambling to hold on to what he could never get back. All he could take from it was the memories.

As if sensing Harry's sinking feeling, Sirius pushed off from the tree and mounted his broom again.

"It was a draw," he said. "You know what that means?"

Harry smirked, gnawing the inside of his cheek.

"Rematch!" Sirius rolled.

"You're on!" Harry straddled his broom next to Sirius and bent his legs, tensed his muscles, and stood on his toes.

Neither waited for the other to announce the go. They took off in laughing blurs into the night. They raced the wind and the stars. They howled at the moon and laughed at the sky. And for those few seconds, they lost identity as The Boy Who Lived and The Escaped Prisoner. They merely were Harry and Sirius, godfather and son, friend and friend.

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